


Eichen House

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Homeward Bound [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, BAMF Stiles, Detective Stiles, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sciles, Slavery, Sub Scott McCall, Teen Wolf AU, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is brought to Eichen House, the premiere rehabilitation facility for lycanthropes after his rescue from Peter Hale's Mansion, but he's not the same boy Stiles used to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eichen House

They took Scott to Eichen House, the premiere (and only) werewolf rehabilitation center on the West Coast. Run by Dr. Malia Tate, it was a far cry from the horror story-worthy mess that shared its name. That Eichen House had closed down long ago, dozens of cases of malpractice finally reaching justice. It was practically unrecognizable, all open spaces and pastel colors, funded by academic and federal researches. The Ministry of Defense was particularly interested in their work.

It wasn’t how Stiles would design his living room, but he liked the improvement.

He should have been back at the office. He owed Allison an explanation, but when he’d left, she had been busy bringing their informer, one Laura Hale, up to speed. There was probably paperwork to do. There was always paperwork to do. Stiles’ hands hadn’t stopped shaking since they took Scott away.

The ‘formal introduction to a police officer’ was usually the last leg of the facility tour, an after-thought mostly, assigned to patrol officers looking to take the night off early. 

Stiles waited as close as they would allow to Scott’s bed, waiting for him to wake. 

\----

Awareness came crashing back like a car accident, sudden and terrifying. There was no slow and peaceful grogginess, he’d been trained too well to leave himself vulnerable as long as he was conscious. The sounds were different, he could hear breathing close by and murmured voices further on. The smells too, the scent of other wolves was heavy in the air and Scott could feel his hackles rise at the challenge. There had been others Peter had kept in his own private little “pack,” but the scent was wrong and these wolves were dangerous strangers.

Scott tried to scramble off the bed to wedge himself into the corner and give himself a better defensive position, but he couldn’t move. Straps held him securely down to keep him from hurting himself or others and he arched his body upwards to strain against them to no avail. Whatever these were made from, they were designed to hold someone with his strength.  With a frustrated snarl, he dropped back against the bed and sighed up at the ceiling. Peter rarely took him out of the mansion, it was always risky transporting pets in the open, and it had certainly never been to a place like this. It was too bright, too forcibly cheerful, he didn’t trust it at all.

The heart beat was out of place and not his own, a nervous thudding that was overloud in the relative silence of this room. Scott glared hatefully at the intruder who was trying to use his childhood friend’s face against him. “You’re wasting your time.” The words were rough like he hadn’t spoken in a long time, resigned to the fact he was trapped in Peter’s new game but determined to be as difficult as possible. “I don’t know who you are or where I am, but I’m not going to give you what you want.” There wasn’t much he could do to resist, but he had to try. “How about you start with where I am? Or maybe who the hell you are?”

\----

"You know who I am." Stiles knew the words were wrong before he finished saying them, and shit, maybe this was why they weren’t required to be around during the initial interview. He couldn’t remember getting to his feet, his hand twitching towards the tazer in his side holster. In any other psychiatric ward, he would have been prohibited to enter. He almost wished they’d take it away, like maybe that would make the utterly foreign expression on Scott’s face disappear. 

Stiles didn’t recognize him like that. Stiles didn’t know he could feel so angry.

The back of his ears to his nape felt like it was on fire, and even he could tell his pulse was too loud.  There was a button he was supposed to push, once Scott woke. He didn’t push it. 

"I’m Stiles." He replied at length, forcing himself not to see why it was so wrong. His voice only trembled for a moment. "Officer Stiles Stilinski, actually." 

Pulling out his badge was easy, and he stepped close enough that he could show it to Scott. Holding it over his head, he tried to ignore how the last time he’d done this, it had been to taunt a monster in ropes. This wasn’t the same. “Dad cried during - when I got into the Academy. He’s doing okay… You’re in Eichen House, on Orchard Street… 1805 or 1850 or something like that.”

Nothing that the nurses would contradict, he was aware of that much. 

"We don’t want anything." His voice lilted, and Stiles had to grit his jaw and turn away because there might have been a spot for Peter in Hell, but he wanted to make him suffer before he got there. "Do you know where you were? Where we found you?" 

\----

“I know who you want me to think you are.” Scott snapped, muscles twitching in the familiar crooked jaw. However they found this guy, they’d really done their homework. The dusting of freckles across his skin was right, the amber-gold eyes, the slim fingers twitching at his sidearm. They’d spent the time to get the little details right, but why would they pick the ghost of the boy from his childhood to hurt him. Was this an attempt to take the last bit of humanity away?

“Are you going to shoot me again, _Officer_ Stilinski?” He pulled at the straps in frustration, glaring up at the badge. “Is that supposed to convince me? You’re going to use his name and drop things about his Dad like you know anything about him and somehow I’m just going believe you?  Quit the act, I can’t…” His voice caught and he swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away and staring back up at the ceiling. He couldn’t look at him, it wasn’t fair. Everything else had been ripped away and ground down over the years, his kindness, his morality, his hope. All of it was gone except for his memories and now they were trying to taint that too.

“Everyone wants something.” Scott took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, willing this all to end. Maybe if he just played along, Peter would get bored and move on to something else. Just give him what he wanted to hear. “I was with my master.” It had taken years before he’d been able to say the word without resisting, but survival meant giving up a certain amount of pride.

“Now will you stop pretending to be someone you’re not? You don’t have the right, you don’t _any_ right to even say his name and if I could get out of this, I’d make you sorry that you got involved. _He_ doesn’t get to take this from me, he’s taken everything else and I won’t let him have this too. You tell him that for me.”

\----

Looking at Scott was painful, and it would have been too easy to turn away. That felt like betrayal. Too many people had already hurt him. He could feel the blood drain from his face, the way his teeth knocked against one another as he tried to grit them shut. He didn’t know what he’d say if he gave himself the chance, but Stiles knew that it wouldn’t make this right. It felt like nothing could.

Eleven years hadn’t taught him how to keep his mouth shut. 

"He’s not your master," he spat, words laced with venom, and he should have found Scott sooner. He should have found him years ago, but he didn’t know how he could have. He didn’t know how to undo any of this, but he wasn’t going to call for reinforcements; he wasn’t going to call people who made this their job because he was Stiles, and that was Scott, and they worked things out. It was what they did. It was who they were.

He wanted so badly to believe that this was just another broken window. 

"You can hear my heart beat, right? You can - werewolves have a way of knowing right? Then you don’t have to believe anything else, Scott, but he’s gone. He’s gone, and I’d bring you his head on a fucking platter myself if I could."

He was breathing hard, but there were tears caught on Scott’s lashes. Stiles never hated anyone so much.

\----

Dark black brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced back over at the human, shocked at the anger in the man’s voice. It didn’t make any sense, why would they say something like that? What kind of game was this? Peter had too much of an ego to allow any of his people to say anything against him.

Scott stilled, listening to the beat of the other man’s heart and feeling his own clamoring to escape through his ribs. It couldn’t be true, it was just a fantasy he’d constructed to give himself something to believe in, there wasn’t a way to escape. That kind of hope had been beaten from the wolf long ago, and yet, he looked so much like his friend. Older, stronger, the years looked good on him as he finally filled into the broad shoulders and confident stance.

“Tell me something.” He said softly, the rage drained away and leaving Scott quiet and empty. “If you think you know anything about Stiles, then this should be easy for you. Tell me how I got the scar under my eye and maybe I’ll believe you. Or you could just let me out of these things and take your chances.” Scott kept his eyes trained on the officer, almost pleading with him to give the right answer. If it was Stiles, no. He couldn’t let himself think like that or it would break him. Survive, _survive._ That was the only thing that mattered, everything else was just a distraction and he couldn’t afford any more cracks in his defenses.

But if it was Stiles…after so long, was it even possible?

\----

There was a moment where Stiles just didn’t know, and everything around him threatened to suffocate him, his shoulders tensed with the weight of the world bearing down on him - or rather, the part of the world that actually mattered. That familiar curve, like a stretched crescent, was barely visible, not like it had been in fifth grade when Scott had paraded it around the playground like a battle scar, not like it had been when it was covered in blood.

"You got that going long," he whispered, and couldn’t recognize his own voice. "It was the hottest day of the summer, and no one would let us go outside. We didn’t want to go outside, but I wanted to practice - we always wanted to make first string on the team, so we played lacrosse indoors and we..."

Stiles exhaled, and he was glad he’d put his badge away. He probably would have dropped it with the way his hands trembled and minute ticks ripped through his spine. 

"I wanted to practice trick shots, and I was bouncing on the couch, and aiming for your head every _time_ … Then you crashed. Into that glass table and the lamp, and - and the paramedics yelled at me when I tried to get into the stretcher with you. Was it five stitches, or three? I don’t remember, man, and I’d let you out if I could. You know I can’t. I can’t do that.”

\----

The wolf was quiet for a minute before he smiled, brilliant and genuine. For a moment, the years fell away and he was that same trusting, gentle boy who rushed to comfort anyone in pain and worried more about others than he ever did himself. Scott relaxed into the bed, feeling muscles unknot and tension ease like it hadn’t since he’d been brought to Peter’s where he had been constantly on guard. His eyes slid closed, still smiling and just breathed.

"My mom always told us not to play lacrosse in the house." Scott murmured. "We didn’t listen. We  _never_ listened. You always had the best ideas and I never wanted to tell you no. I always thought it was cool, all the best action heroes had scars.” He laughed under his breath, blinking his eyes back open and finding Stiles. 

"I’m sorry I never told you. I was scared and my mom said I couldn’t tell anyone, not even you. I argued with her about it, but she said if anyone suspected and if you knew, it would put your whole family in danger. I thought about you a lot, you know. I wanted to email or maybe just write a letter without a return address to tell you I was okay but I couldn’t risk you. And then…it didn’t matter in the end." He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been with Peter, time just blurred together unendingly punctuated by pain and humiliation. "A cop like your dad, huh? I’m not surprised, you were always good at helping him figure things out, even when we were kids. It’s a good look for you, Stiles."

His voice caught on the name and the smile faded as he pulled against the straps. “Please, can’t you let me out for a minute? I won’t hurt you and I just need to…I-I have to…some days I was so sure you weren’t real and that I’d dreamed the whole thing. Please, I just have to know you’re real.”

\----

That was Scott. 

It looked like the stress of decades had been lifted off his back, and Peter Hale should never have been allowed to touch him. Peter Hale should never have been allowed anywhere near him. Where was Melissa now, Stiles didn’t ask. He’d looked for her as soon as he’d gotten on the force, tried to piece together what his resources allowed, but there wasn’t a lot of free time while hunting monsters.

"Hey, man, don’t-" And everything caught in his throat, but Stiles was leaning down, draping himself over the beautiful boy with the bright smile that haunted his dreams. It was dangerous. It could have all been an act. Peter Hale was a snake, and to survive with him, one had to learn how to bite back. Or if it wasn’t, Scott wasn’t the same boy who’d left. Scott wasn’t in the same ballpark as that boy, and just as far from okay. This might be the worst thing to do to him. This might hurt him, but Stiles had waited so long for this. There was a lot to be said about his selfishness.

"I looked for you," he whispered, voice gravel rough as he gripped Scott through the straps, burying his face in his shoulder. He’d hated hospitals for a long time, hated everything about them even as they brought Melissa McCall dinner and played card games in the break rooms. The mere possibility that this place could do for Scott what it did for so many other patients made Stiles cheer it. 

"You never called, and I knew - I _knew_ something was wrong. God that’s - that sounds so messed up, but I knew. I missed you, Scott. I missed you.” He inhaled sharply, trying to blink back heat that crept behind his eyes, trying to suck in snot. “Hurry up and get better, dude, you look like shit.”

\----

Something in Scott’s chest broke, some wall he’d built to save himself from being lost. It crumbled immediately as Stiles touched him, stripping away all the defenses and scars to leave him vulnerable. He made a soft pained noise, pulling against the restraints until they dug into his flesh as he tried to get closer. To touch him back.

Scott nuzzled into the other man’s hair, breathing in the scent of his skin that stirred half-forgotten memories and promised safety louder than any words could. This was real, this was _home_ in a way that defied all reason. It was finally over. “I’m okay, Stiles.” The wolf whispered, lips pressed against his friend’s ear. The same words he’d said a million times before, reassurances given no matter how he’d been hurt. “We’re okay now, don’t worry. I’m right here.”

Stiles was a solid weight against his chest, warm and real. The last of Scott’s fears died away, replaced with a heady euphoria and the tentative flicker of hope. He felt more human than he had in years, the anchor of his memories replaced with the living breathing version and it just felt right. Like they were fumbling fifteen year olds again and no time at all had passed since then. They were different, some part of Scott knew that they couldn’t ever be the same as they used to be or feel the same way again, but right in this moment, he was willing to just believe anything was possible.

“I missed you too, Stiles, you don’t have any idea. You always were able to figure things out. I should have guessed you’d know, you’re too damn clever sometimes. It still came in handy, _officer_. The cop thing suits you, I like it.” Scott huffed a laugh, dropping his head back against the bed. “Yeah well, you look like shit too. At least I have an excuse for it, man.”

\----

He’d just exposed his throat to a werewolf. If those straps had been any looser, he would have lost his taser. That noise sounded _feral_. 

None of it mattered because Scott was okay. Okay like he’d been while coming down from an asthma attack post-100 yard sprint to escape neighborhood bullies. Okay like he’d been after they fell out of their makeshift tree house in the Stilinski yard and mercifully didn’t need stitches. Fucking okay after he’d crashed through glass and porcelain, while Melissa had been fuming and Stiles had been crying at the sight of so much blood.

Stiles was crying again, he thought, but he couldn’t tell, eyes screwed shut because that wasn’t how you were supposed to act at victory parties.

He cradled Scott’s face in his hand, memorizing the slope of his cheek with unsteady fingers. Their foreheads pressed together, and Stiles was so, so sorry he couldn’t remove the restraints.  He needed to hold on, just for a second long, and another, and another.

His laughter was a strangled thing.

"Yeah, but I smell better, Fido." He was grinning when he pulled away, but Stiles didn’t move very far. He didn’t move far at all. "This is - the cop’s good. Being a cop’s good. It’s great. And you’re in good hands here, man. Then you can stay at my place. After. Yeah. Yeah, my place."

There were no ifs, ands or buts. That was an agreement eleven years in the making. Stiles had no way of noticing the approaching footsteps.

\----

Scott wished his hands were free to run through the mess of Stiles’s hair and brush beneath his eyes to catch the tears he could feel hot against his skin. God, he wanted to hold him and promise everything would be all right again. He could wrap his whole body around him and just breathe, letting the scent of the human settle him like nothing else ever had. These stupid straps just got in the way, he wasn’t going to hurt Stiles, he would _never_ hurt him. It would be impossible.

He tipped his head to bump his nose against Stiles, murmuring unintelligible apologies for leaving, for making him worry, for not being able to get as close as he needed. “Shhh, it’s okay. No more worrying, I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me.” He couldn’t bear to see the pain on his friend’s face, when Stiles was sad his own heart broke.

“Ha, that’s what you think. You don’t have a sensitive nose like mine.” Scott rolled his lip between his teeth, staring intently as if he was afraid the other man would suddenly vanish. He faltered just slightly at the offer, eyes briefly sliding away. The wolf knew he wasn’t the same boy he used to be. He was an animal, a killer and worse. He felt like the things he’d done to survive were etched into his skin like ink for everyone to see. He flushed hotly, ashamed and angry, unsure if he could be that person again or if only the worst parts of him had made it through. What if Stiles found out about everything? What if he was disappointed in what Scott had become? Everything felt so good in the chaos of reunion, but it couldn’t last.

\----

"Bullshit," Stiles huffed, bopping Scott on the nose without fear of rejection, without fear of hurting him. Offer an inch, and Stiles would take miles. Scott learned that the hard way when he complimented a bright red Batman lunch box all those years ago. Stiles hadn’t left his side until he was forced to let go, He wasn’t going to change now.

And if anything could convince him that it was his Scott, it was what hadn’t changed. It was how easily that heart could bleed for other people. Stiles had to remember that.

When the door opened, it felt like he’d been in the room with a different person.

The wolf tensed suddenly and looked past Stiles as he growled, a low and inhuman sound. Footsteps, an intruder, _danger_. Instinct kicked in and he fought against the restraints trying to get free so he could protect them both.

Dr. Tate had a quiet confidence that stemmed from self-assurance and unapologetic pride. Under the tutelage of Dr. Alan Deaton, she had spearheaded the rebuilding of Eichen House, and turned it into a place that could actually help people like her. The orderlies that flanked her were its graduates, like nearly all shapeshifters employed at the facility.

That said, having three more were-creatures in the room filled it with tension so quickly, Stiles wanted to open a window.

He moved off the bed, but slowly. There was a question he wanted to ask Scott, about the way his friend had tensed, about the way his smile had shifted. That would have to wait.

"Officer Stilinski. Good to see you again. It’s been a while." Her eyes flickered briefly to the way Stiles rubbed Scott’s arm, still trying to soothe his outburst. "How are you feeling, Mr. McCall?"

\----

Scott’s eyes bled a glowing, steady red, the shift twisting right below the skin. There was no rational thought behind his actions, the wolf reacting to the threat of other weres while he was restrained and unable to protect himself. He’d had to fight before, Peter sometimes liked to pit his “pack” against his rivals’ pets for sport. People starved until they were feral and wild, and then released to tear each other apart like animals. It hadn’t been a choice, kill or be killed, but he’d been good at it and the scent of strange weres immediately triggered his aggression.

The hand on his arm brought Scott back to himself, soothing the beast that howled for blood. His breathing eased but his eyes remained bright red as they flicked between Stiles and the doctor. Stiles was worried about _him_ , not the doctor or her lackeys and the wolf struggled to control himself. “I’m okay. He finally managed to say. “You can let me go, I’m not a threat. You have my word, I won’t hurt anybody.”

He didn’t trust this doctor. The types of chains might have changed, but he was still bound and owned. From his point of view, this wasn’t much different from Peter. Scott carefully extended his claws on one hand, slowly dragging the razor sharp nails across the strap. The angle was wrong and it was slow going, but he could feel that he was making progress.

\----

"That’s not an option Mr. McCall. We’re in an area densely populated with shapeshifters, and you cannot guarantee your self-control at this point." The Doctor said calmly.

Stiles didn’t think she sounded apologetic in the slightest. He hadn’t pulled away from Scott, though it had loosened. He’d never had a problem with their standard operating procedure before. He understood the reasoning behind it. He’d never had his best friend go through the facility before.

"Just for a little while, dude," Stiles tried to appease, but it was difficult when the corners of his mouth were turned down in disapproval. "Is it time for the tour?"

"Yes, we would have started when Mr. McCall woke, but it seemed best to give you both a chance to speak." Stiles features turned solemn. He wasn’t going to be reprimanded in front of Scott, but he had his doubts about how well things would go out. "Would you mind stepping out?"

\----

Scott’s lip curled, but he kept himself from snarling. Whatever she was, it wasn’t a wolf and the scent of it rankled him. Something smaller and irritating, some scavenger nipping at a real predator’s heels. He was not out of control, Scott wasn’t going to just lash out wildly, especially with Stiles in the room. Peter had treated him like an animal, it seemed like these people would do the same.

"I’m not going to hurt anyone, I gave you my word. I’m in control of myself." Was that even true? Scott would have liked to believe so, but the truth was he couldn’t be sure. He had been broken down, trained like a dog to respond to commands and queues. Sometimes he reacted without thinking, the lessons drilled into his head for so long that he couldn’t tell where they ended and he began. He’d done his best to pick apart the knots they’d left in his mind while he was alone in his "kennel," but not everything was easy to get rid of.

"You’re leaving?" There was the slightest edge of panic in Scott’s voice. He had to found his best friend again after all these years, the one person whose memories had kept him going and he couldn’t just lose Stiles again. If he walked out that door, he might disappear and never come back again. It was irrational, but the wolf wasn’t feeling very rational these days.

Scott dug his nail harder into the strap, feeling the material start to give way.  He stayed quiet and still as if accepting the rules of Eichen house. He could play the good little puppy if he had to, but he wasn’t going to stay here and let them tie him down. No one would ever get to do that again. “Come back, Stiles, okay? Don’t leave me here.”

\----

No, no he couldn’t leave, not when Scott sounded like that. His fingers dug into Scott’s arm, threatening to leave bruises, but he barely registered it. “Does it have to be now, doctor? I mean - aren’t the early interventions done one on one? But tonight, definitely. I’ve got to get my paperwork done anyway. I’ll be applying to be his companion here.”

Malia’s appearance was contemplative, but not immediately disapproving. “Are you comfortable with that, Mr. McCall? After Officer Stilinski explains our relationship with the Beacon Hills PD, we’ll have a guided tour?”

Stiles’ thoughts lingered around that claim though, the claim of self-control. He wanted to believe Scott. He wanted Scott to be the exception of every rule, of every awful thing he’d seen in the field, but his mind treacherously drew him back to that moment where Stiles had been sure he’d need to use his taser. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

\----

He looked up at Stiles, eyes fading back to warm brown as he gave a small nod. Even after all this time and all the betrayals in his life, he still had an implicit trust in this man that defied any explanation. If Scott was honest with himself, he barely knew Stiles anymore. Certainly not the man he’d become, just that awkward sarcastic boy from a lifetime ago. How many years had it even been? How old had they gotten?

Scott licked his lip nervously, but tried to keep himself calm. They’d never relax their guard if they saw him as a threat. He could bide his time as long as they didn’t make Stiles leave. Survival. He’d gotten really good at that game. “As long as Stiles can stay, I won’t cause any trouble.”

The wolf yanked hard on his wrist strap that snapped from the force, grabbing Stiles with a hand full of claws and pulling him down hard. “Tell your minions to stay back, doctor, and no one has to get hurt. I don’t want any blood tonight, I just want to leave.” He growled, fangs bared to challenge the other were creatures. Nails pressed painfully into the officer’s flesh, but didn’t break the skin. “Undo the rest of the straps, Stiles.” Scott murmured into his ear. “I won’t hurt you, I swear. Trust me.”

\----

Her eyes flashed blue in open warning, the only external sign of her shift. Malia didn’t move, but the orderly hidden behind her didn’t have to go far to activate the warning device on his watch. Stiles didn’t notice. A sharp jab of pain had surged up his thigh where it banged against the bed frame, trapping his weapon against the mattress. His features had gone pale, body still partially curled into a defensive posture he hadn’t been given the chance to use. His fists were clenched so tightly, they left his knuckles white.

"Don’t do this, Scott," he answered, tone clear, though he remained pliant in the werewolf’s grip. Part of him didn’t want to believe he was here. They were here. Maybe it was a good thing that part hadn’t caught up yet.

"Don’t try running. We can’t help you if you’re on the run." He couldn’t hear himself over the roaring of his heart. 

\----

"Please, Stiles, undo the straps." This was crazy, he didn’t even have a plan, just the desperate need to escape. He couldn’t hurt the human, but the doctor didn’t know that and Scott was banking on her hesitation. She didn’t know about the two of them, she couldn’t have. He was just an animal hauled in by the police.

It had to at least be convincing and Scott tightened his grip, claws digging deep into that perfect pale skin. He’d apologize later, make up for every bruise once they were away from this place. “I want everyone out of the halls, I’m going to walk out of here and none of you are going to stop me. I don’t need your help and I’m not going to let you keep me here. I’m done with that, I won’t be chained by anyone. Hands where I can see them or I’ll rip out his throat right now.”

Scott pressed the side of his face against Stiles’s hair, wishing he could explain but if the doctor and her minions had hearing like his own, it would have given everything away. “I’ve lived on the run before, I can do it again. Undo the straps, Stiles, don’t make me ask you again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

\----

"This is a mistake, Scott. You can’t stay on the run forever." He couldn’t control the shiver that crawled up his spine, and if he grit his jaw any harder, he’d hurt himself. Stiles still bent over, and started undoing the straps with his hands. His fingers fumbled once, twice. He stalled without pushing his luck. 

The windows weren’t large enough to fit the passage of a full grown man, let alone two, but Malia Tate was remarkably composed as she stepped away from the exit. Her orderlies followed obediently. All three had blue eyes, and Stiles could care about what that meant when he was free. 

The corridors of Eichen House had been torn down for easier observation, allowing the nursing station a direct view of the entrance to Scott’s room. However, the carpet’s design disguised lines of mountain ash that had now been completed to block off any route away from the nursing station.

Stiles made sure he was dead weight in Scott’s arms, for all the good it would do.

\----

Scott scrambled from the bed, stumbling a bit as blood returned to his legs but never releasing his grip on the human. He held Stiles tight against his body, claws wrapped around his neck. He cursed under his breath, supporting Stiles’s weight with his augmented strength and never keeping his eyes from the doctor as they slowly backed out of the room.

"You think you can make this any harder than it is?" He hissed in Stiles’s ear, dragging him towards the exit. "Let me worry about running, I’ve had enough experience at it. You have a car here, right? I just need to get away from here and we’ll think about the next step. You always have a plan."

The racing pulse pressed against his chest was distracting, the scent of fear clouding his thoughts and making it difficult to focus. He wasn’t going to lose it, not here. He could hold it together long enough to get free and then figure out where to go from there. Maybe convince Stiles to…one thing at a time. Survive.

He hit the mountain ash barrier with his back, yelping in surprise at the flash of blue and the painful buzz almost like electricity that sparked through his body. Scott dropped Stiles from nerveless fingers, backing away from the barrier with wide eyes. No…no no no… He slammed his fist against the obstruction, over and over trying to force his way through, shift breaking through the skin as his features grew more wolf-like. Freedom was so close, he couldn’t stop now. “Stiles, break it! You can do it, break it and we can go, quick before they try to stop us.”

\----

‘I'm sorry, Scott.' He didn't say. 'I wish there was another way. I don't know what to do. Why are you doing this? Why Scott WHY?!'

His reflexes were slower than a werewolf’s, but the taser was already set and charged before it was fully out of his holster. He was getting too good at this, Stiles thought. Shooting his best friend. He’d trained for years to perfect that skill set. 

The weapon ran hot between his fingers, and this was wrong no matter how he looked at it. Scott would never trust him again. Scott would never have reason to trust him, and he was selfish enough to think that not trusting Scott was worse. Stiles wanted to laugh. Stiles wanted to scream.

The hallways were too quiet when it was over.

\----

The world seemed to slow, or maybe it was just his werewolf abilities that made it seem that way. Everything narrowed down to the gun pointing at him, his friend’s hand steady. He opened his mouth to protest, to talk him down and explain. Stiles had to just understand, he couldn’t stay here. It was just switching one cage for another, he couldn’t keep living like an animal anymore. He had to understand that Scott would never hurt him, that it was all an act. Being on the run was hard but maybe, maybe he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Scott stared down the barrel of the taser and couldn’t find the words, frozen a moment too long to move and save himself. Stiles didn’t trust him. It had been so many years and he was a monster now, of course Stiles didn’t trust him. His defensive posture relaxed, waiting for the strike with acceptance and resignation. His friend was forgiven before the bolt even hit.

Muscles seized and Scott gave a strangled cry before collapsing rigidly to the floor. Pain wracked his body, leaving him breathless and disoriented, curling at Stiles’s feet in silent agony.

\----

It wasn’t his first time using the taser. It wasn’t his tenth. This time was the worst. He watched with morbid fascination as the muscles in Scott’s frame trembled and tensed, like every nerve in his skin was trying to tear through it. His face contorted in pain, but his features softened, canine fangs and teeth and ears receding as Scott struggled to breathe.

He did that. He already wanted Scott to forgive him.

Around them, business had resumed. The staff were unfortunately experienced with handling delicate situations. They’d known from the start. Stiles had given up Scott’s main advantage without intending to. He’d filled out all of Scott’s forms and demanded to be on his watch.

Now, all he could do was bundle Scott into his arms.

 _I’m getting real good at this, Scotty._ He thought, as he pressed a kiss to the werewolf’s brow. This wasn’t the right way to treat someone suffering from spasms. This could hurt Scott more than help him, and Stiles had done enough hurting tonight. He’d done enough to last them a lifetime.

He wouldn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP that has been fic-i-fied!
> 
> You can find Tmautog's awesome fics on [tumblr](http://tmautog.tumblr.com/tagged/writing) and keep up with this story [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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